Chapter 1

“You look nice today.”

“Go to hell.”

Andrew Mercer held his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay then.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and dropped my gear beside my desk, sighing dramatically as I flopped into the uncomfortable, beaten up office chair. I leaned forward, letting my head come to rest against the flat oak surface of the desk. Blonde hair pooled around my head. I squeezed my brown eyes shut and listened to the busy sounds of the building around me.

“Kill me.” I murmured. I waited for the smart a*s comment I knew I'd receiver from my partner.

“I'd rather not. What's the matter, angel?” If I'd have been looking at his face, I knew he'd have been smirking. I groaned.

“Life is the matter. And my name is Allison. Not angel. I don't like it when you call me that.”

Andrew snorted. “I know you don't. That's why I do it. What's the matter with life? Wait, I got it,” He paused, playfulness entering his tone. “You're hungover.”

My head shot up. I glared across at the thirty year old man that sat across from me. Blue eyes stared back. I narrowed my eyes. Andrew's face stayed the same. Frustrated, I threw my head back down onto the desk and and groaned.

“I hate you.”

Andrew Mercer. Born in Los Angeles, California. Thirty years old. Six foot two, with blue eyes that accented a pale face. A head topped with dirty blond hair. Body of a God. To put it into simple terms, the man is gorgeous, something I hate to admit. His drawbacks, however, are plenty. Though he resembles a male model, he is loud, obnoxious, and annoying in general. Andrew has a habit of flirting with every woman he sees, and makes no attempts to hide his attraction to me. I am constantly brushing him away from me and getting him out of my personal bubble. It's a wonder they ever allowed him onto the police force.

Los Angeles Police Department. My employer since the age of twenty four, when I transferred from the Baltimore Police Department to live on the golden coast. The transition from Baltimore to L.A had not been an easy one. Then again, no transition is easy when you're one of homicide's top investigators.

I opened my eyes again as another person entered the bullpen, the area where the homicide team's desks are all located. Sneaking a glance at my watch told me who the person was right away. The voice that called out also helped a bit, too.

“Morning, Andy.” Zach Todd said, dropping his bag on the floor. I looked up and smiled brightly at the brown haired twenty six year old.

“Hello, Zachary!”

Ever since I first joined LAPD, I've always called Zach by his full first name. It's a habit I can't escape.

Zach Todd is a good kid. A year younger than me, he joined the force right out of university, something I have never understood. You see, Zach is a genius when it comes to computers. I, on the other hand, could touch a computer for two seconds and break it. Zach could be a computer programmer, or an engineer, but he chooses to live his life as a homicide detective like myself. I have a great respect for Zachary.

Of course, that's partially due to the fact that I dated him for six months.

Zach is cute. That's the bottom line. For a man who is so nervous around women, he's one of the cutest guys I know. With shaggy brown hair that falls over two brown eyes framed by square glasses, he looks like the high school nerd that the cheer leader would have a secret crush on.

Zach and I are better off as just friends.

“Morning, Ali.” Zach said, smiling warmly at me. Across from me, Andrew rolled his eyes.

“So you get a 'hello Zachary' and I get a 'go to hell'?” He asked, hurt entering his tone. I rolled my eyes at him.

“I like Zachary. I don't like you.”

Instead of placing my head back on my desk, I instead settled for watching Zach put his things away and get ready for the working day. I checked the clock. The time read nine in the morning. I switched focus to Andrew and nodded at him. He nodded back. All three of us knew that in less that a minute, our boss would be arriving.

“I totally meant what I said before, Allison.” Andrew began softly, “You look nice today.”

I sighed. It was better to be nice to Andrew than to have to deal with his incessant whining all day. I was about to respond when a man in his late forties stalked his way into the room. Upon seeing him, Andrew, Zach and I all straightened up. I leaned over my table top, trying to make it look like I was doing something important. Andrew picked up the phone, talking to an imaginary person over the line. Zach turned on and typed away at his computer. No one said a word. The many people in our office scattered. Mark Grant walked nonchalantly to his desk and sat down. Zach looked up. Andrew looked up. I looked up. Mark stared back at us, face expressionless.

“What?” He asked. Andrew smiled tentatively.

“Morning, boss.”

Mark said nothing. Andrew's smile faltered. I met Mark's gaze, but looked away.

Mark Grant. Former FBI Special Agent. Been with the LAPD for seven years. He's tall, has black, greying hair, and pale blue eyes. He's menacing. Nice when you get to know him and when he wants to be. Menacing in all other aspects otherwise. The agency is terrified of him. He knows what he's doing.

That's why we're the best team of homicide detectives in the entire state.

I sighed and turned my head towards Zach.

“Hi Zachy.” I said, having nothing better to do. The brunette looked at me and smiled softly.

“Hi Ali.”

“Stop flirting.” Andrew muttered from across the room. I rolled my eyes and turned back to him. From the corner of my eye, I saw Zach's cheeks redden. I stared at Andrew.

“Don't tease him.” I said sternly, glaring over and Andrew. He rolled his eyes and glared at me.

“I'm not. I'm telling you two to stop flirting.”

“And I'm telling you to stay the hell out of it.” I argued. Andrew leaned forward.

“And I'm telling you that you need to shut the he-”

“You two are the ones who need to stop flirting.” Mark said, voice taking on a tone of annoyance. Andrew's eyes met mine. I looked away quickly.

The area fell into silence. People in the cubicles around us stopped moving. I looked at my desk. Zach fiddled with some computer part beside me. Across from me, Andrew and Mark were writing reports. I sighed and chose to switch my computer on, hoping that I wouldn't manage to short circuit the thing or break it some other way. I was about to log on when something began to ring. All four of our eyes went to the source of the offensive noise. Mark's phone. He picked up the piece of plastic and brought it to his ear. Zach, Andrew and I watched him. When the receiver was hung back in its original place, Mark's face had become a stoic mask of seriousness.

“Gear up,” He began, “We got ourselves a dead body.”